


Cold Hands, Warm Heart

by littlemaple



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, quirky headcanons about fenris' markings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-23 21:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemaple/pseuds/littlemaple
Summary: Hawke decides to pay Fenris a visit after not seeing him in a couple of days. Fenris tells her to go away, but Hawke is obviously not doing that.





	Cold Hands, Warm Heart

**Author's Note:**

> i'm replaying DAII (as one does...) and thus here i am with a f!hawke/fenris fic, hello. i was thinking about fenris' markings and came up with this headcanon, so what was supposed to be a very short drabble of hawke taking care of a stubborn sick fenris turned out to be a little longer, whops. this is set at some point of act 3

“Varric, have you seen Fenris?”

“Not for the past couple days, no,” Varric answered, “He didn’t show up yesterday for our weekly Wicked Grace game. But I thought he might be with you?” Varric raised his eyebrows.

Hawke shrugged.

“No, I haven’t seen him in two days, either.”

“Oh my, and here I was thinking you two weren’t able to keep your hands off each other for more than a few hours,” Varric joked.

Hawke scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“We don’t even hold hands in public,” she said.

“Well, yes, but I’ve got a big imagination. You see, I’ve made a bet with Blondie — I said you two are the sweetest thing when it’s just the two of you. Blondie says Fenris is not capable of that. Isabela butted in and said your relationship is just sexual. So. Which is it?”

“It is none of your business to bet over my love life,” Hawke rolled her eyes again, “but ask again when Fenris is around. His reaction to the question will give the answer away,” she smirked.

Varric laughed.

“Well, then, if you haven’t seen him, I’ll go pay him a visit. I’m a little worried.”

Varric waved goodbye and Hawke quickly left the Hanged Man — but not without waving to Isabela at the counter.

It was a nice day out in Kirkwall. It was warm, the sky blue. It was good to have such nice weather after the storm: it went days and days with nonstop raining and, of course, such weather did not stop blood mages from performing rituals at the coast or slavers from trying to snatch people from Darktown. Hawke grimaced thinking about that place, the water dripping from the ceiling, or running down the walls, or the smell of wet dirt and mold. And since crime didn’t sleep — or wait for the rain to pass — of course Hawke had to run around under the storm to solve this and that.

Now that the storm was over, though, and the day was clear, all she wanted was to spend some time with Fenris. Maybe they could go to the coast. Watch the waves, make a picknick, just the two of them, eating sweets, holding hands, a peaceful silence, comfort.

Fenris liked to be left alone sometimes, and Hawke respected that. But with both of them living in Hightown, she got used to Fenris showing up at her home in the evenings for them to have dinner together, or just sit by the fireplace together while Hawke replied to letters and Fenris read. He hadn’t shown up for two days now, and Hawke was starting to worry.

She got to Fenris’ mansion and didn’t even bother knocking. The place was as rundown as ever, and the front door opened with a loud creak. It was dusty and dark inside, with a few bloodstains on the wall, cobwebs and even some mushrooms growing in a corner where it dripped water from a hole in the ceiling.

The place was huge, and Fenris never went to any of the rooms except the master bedroom upstairs where he kept all of his belongings. Hawke had offered to help him clean up a few times, but he had always declined, so she had stopped bringing it up. The bedroom where Fenris actually lived, though, it was a little better. No mushrooms and no cobwebs. It was messy with books and piles of clothes, but it was much better than the rest of the mansion. Still not a place where Hawke would spend the night, though — she had made that clear. _We sleep together at my place or we don’t. _

Hawke stopped in front of the bedroom door, and this time she knocked. She waited a few seconds. Nothing. She knocked again.

“Fenris?” she called, “You in there?”

There was silence for a while, and then a quiet, hoarse, “Go away.”

Hawke blinked in confusion.

“What do you mean, go away? Are you okay?”

“Yes — I am okay. Just,” a cough, “go away.”

Hawke frowned at that.

She tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

“Let me in,” she asked.

“No—” another cough, “Leave, Hawke. We speak later.” Then more coughing.

“You’re sick,” Hawke stated, “let me in. If you don’t open the door for me, you know I can just bust it open after freezing it with a spell, right? I’m not leaving. Let me in.”

There was more coughing, then groaning and cussing in Tevinter, then finally Hawke heard the key on the other side of the door, and there was nothing between her and Fenris.

He looked up at her with a frown, his big, big green eyes a little reddish and tired, with bags under them. He was wrapped up in a quilt, clearly shivering and clearly trying to look like he wasn’t. And also—

“You should leave,” he said again, quieter, sniffing.

And also… his markings were glowing. Faintly, like they were pulsing: as Fenris breathed, his markings let out a soft bluish glow, like he did when he activated the lyrium in them to rip someone’s heart out, only… faintly. Only it was activating and deactivating with his breathing, glowing into and out of focus.

“Hawke—”

“What happened?” Hawke asked, worry carrying her words, “Are you okay? Let me—” she reached to touch Fenris’ shoulder, but he moved away, stepping back inside.

“I’m fine,” he said, walking wobblily back to his bed, coughing and glowing faintly, “it’s just a cold.”

“Like hell it’s just a _cold_,” Hawke said while going after him.

“It is,” Fenris said, “or the flu. It’s no big deal,” he added, sitting on his bed and looking away, avoiding Hawke’s eyes. She noticed a jug of water on top of a crate by the bed, and a few apples and bread loaves.

“But you’re…”

“It’s _fine_,” Fenris repeated, then coughed.

He looked sweaty, his hair sticking to his forehead, and Hawke moved swiftly, touching his forehead before he could move away. Fenris hissed at her, grimacing.

“You have a fever,” she stated.

“Yes, but it’ll go away if I just rest.”

“Is it because we were walking around the rain before?” she asked.

“Probably, but don’t dwell on it,” Fenris shook his head.

Hawke bit her lip, looking around. Fenris’ sword and armor were tossed in a corner. The room was cold.

“I’m not good with healing myself,” she said, “but I could get Anders and—”

“_No_,” Fenris said, his glowing becoming more intense for a second before toning down again. “Not him. And no magic healing. It’s just a cold. Just… leave me be.”

“Then… let me just… let’s go to my place, then. It’s warmer. Orana can cook something for you, and—”

“Hawke, I’m fine here. I’m not leaving.”

“But you’re glowing!” Hawke finally said it, exasperated.

Fenris blinked at her, slowly, his eyes tired. There was the faintest smile on his lips for the briefest moment.

“It’s okay. It… sort of does that, when I’m sick and weak. You don’t need to worry about it. It really is just a cold or the flu, Hawke. I’m not lying.”

Hawke sighed loudly, then pouted, sitting on the bed next to Fenris. She looked around for a second, then raised her eyes to Fenris.

“Does it hurt?” she asked quietly. “The markings?”

Fenris didn’t say anything.

“Does it?”

Fenris sighed.

“Don’t lie. I’ll know if you lie.”

“Not… exactly. It’s not pain. It’s just… uncomfortable. I can feel the lyrium moving under my skin. It’s… when I use my ability, it’s brief, so it doesn’t bother me. But now it’s… like it’s buzzing, nonstop, moving faster…”

Hawke moved to place a hand on Fenris’ arm, her fingers brushing on his markings, and he flinched away.

“Sorry—” she said, worried, “did I hurt you?”

“No,” Fenris shook his head again, “you’re just… your hand is cold,” he said.

“Oh.”

Hawke looked down at her hands, the tip of her fingers reddish. She shook her head, pressing her hands together to warm them up.

“You cast too many ice spells,” Fenris pointed out with a frown, “so you always get ice cold when you’re nervous, like the magic inside of you is trying to come out on its own to protect you,” he stopped to cough, “after… your mother died… when you asked me to hold my hand… you almost froze it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?!”

Fenris shrugged.

Hawke shook her head, looking down at her hands. There was a brief silence. “You must realize, then, that I care about you, and that I won’t just go away. If you don’t want magic healing, it’s fine, but I’ll still see that you’re warm and have eaten and are being cared for.”

“Hawke—”

“So you better come with me to my house, or else I’ll carry you there. And I might be just a mage, but I’m strong enough to drag you,” Hawke said, determined.

“Hawke—”

“Please, just let me take care of you.” She asked.

Fenris looked at her, still glowing faintly, then looked down. Slowly, without saying a word, he reached for Hawke’s hand, entwining their fingers and holding it tight.

“Fine,” he said, very quietly.

Hawke smiled.

“Isn’t my hand too cold?” she wanted to check.

“I need to cool down anyway,” Fenris answered, still not looking at her.

Hawke chuckled lightly.

“We’ll prepare you a bath and a warm meal and you’ll rest and you’ll be fine,” she said, standing up but still holding Fenris’ hand. She then brought it closer to her lips, pressing his hot skin against her cold lips.

Fenris looked away, muttering something under his breath. Hawke grinned.

“If Varric was here, he’d be winning a bet right now,” Hawke commented.

Fenris squinted his eyes at her.

“I’m not going to ask what you mean. I don’t think I want to know.”

Hawke just laughed, kissing his hand a few more times.


End file.
